


After Shock

by kolachie, magurofish



Series: Moveable Type [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Charles always get the short end of the stick, Depression, Emotionally Un-crippled Erik for once, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injured!Charles, M/M, Mixed Media, POV Experimental, Panick Attack, Shaw controls the World - He is a manipulative bastard, Sort-of powered-not really?, Sweet!Erik, What is going on?, historical - all over the place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kolachie/pseuds/kolachie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/magurofish/pseuds/magurofish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is case number 41 detailing the fire and the events that followed in December 1881.  It begins with anger and ends with murder.</p><p>What happens when the abilities aren't powers but curses? What happens to those who overextend their use? And what is the conspiracy behind it all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Log In

**Author's Note:**

> This story starts in the present day and then jumps back to 1881. It's kind of all over the place time wise so there are timestamps everywhere for your reading convenience. We're playing with storytelling style. Enjoy! 8D
> 
> Each part of the series explores a different Charles' and Eriks at different points in time. They are all members of the same family but of different generations and are relatives of one another, but only one version exists at a time. Think of each one being named for a previos one, like how families keep certain names in the mix for generations. Yea. On with the show!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to skip the plot in this chapter and go straight to the angsty pron-time funsies, skip to chapter 2. 
> 
> Chapter 2-3 are told from the standard third-person POV and are about Erik and Charles directly.

>>USER: kigan

>>PASSCODE: *********************

<<USER LOGIN: 16.12.2013 02:27:59 GMT

>>Coffee or tea?: oolong no milk

<<DECRYPT RSA & AES

>>Key: [HIDDEN REMOVEABLE DRIVE]

<<…

<<…

<<…

<<PASSCODE: BOMBE

<<DECRYPT ENIGMA

<<…

<<…

{Begin}

 

I posted all the records I’ve been able to dig up so far concerning the Xavier-Lensherr case from 16-20 December 1881 to you so be watching for them at the place and the time where Saxe had the thing once.

 

Through some extremely delicate manoeuvring [involving but not limited to bribes, threats and the usual favours >D], I was able to obtain the pages from Lehnier’s personal journal for those dates. Looks like Lehnier was drowned, poor sod. I’m guessing it was Questad if not Shaw himself. We need more info on this Miss Emma. As far as I’ve been able to find there are 9 Emma’s, Lehnier was acquainted with and none of those may even be the right one. I’ve restored them as much as possible [insert impressed your impressed face here NOW] and but you can sift through them all you like and come up with an electronic version. [I’ve done far more than my bloody bit Dx]

 

I have yet to locate the first 10 pages of it, but doubt it’ll contain anything relevant. [Nonsense like that rarely does but still. FTW] I’m sure Lehnier had a notebook where he took down all quotes, notes, etc, and that is the key. Considering how these mundane artefacts were kept, I doubt it was destroyed. It’s simply a matter of tracking it down. The hard part would be to obtain the original. Hopefully it’s unaltered otherwise we’ll really be in the shit.

 

The letter from Xavier to Lensherr isn’t too useful and neither are the photos, but I sent them along as well with a typed version of the letter. [We were able to read the what was written on the burnt off parts of it before those deteriorated completely]. These Victorians have such fucking ridiculous handwriting. The letter given the mentions in it, places it sometime in September or October 1880.

 

The individual photos of the three date from early 1879. The one by Raven Xavier was taken around August 1880, too bad it’s missing. I think it was of Lehnsherr and Xavier themselves. Maybe it was dirty-dirty? Who knows? But be on the lookout for it in case.

 

If it weren’t for the absurd amount of sentimentality during that time period, I’d swear they were buggering each other.

 

The faster we get to it, the faster this’ll get sorted. I’ll be busy over the next few days to weeks with a small side project on the Cuban Missile Crisis. Found a reference about some man called Schmidt that may link him to our 1880s Shaw fellow.

 

Sent attachments of the stuff anyway. I deserve a pat on the back. [pats] Why thank you, me! You're welcome, self! 

 

Keep calm and bugger on!

 

-Voff out

 

{END}

>>view ATTACHMENT

>> DISPLAY?: Y

<<…

>>PASSCODE: ******************

<<FILE – STUFF.txt

 

{Begin}

 

[LETTER TRANSCRIPT]

[ENVELOPE]

 

Erik

 

[LETTER]

 

My Dearest Erik,

 

Yes, my depravity knows no bounds, and you are no better, my friend. You should know better than to challenge a Xavier to a drinking contest, especially with my own 18-year-old Scotch-Whisky. The dusty ones are always the ones one must look out for.

 

I thank you for the copy of Darwin’s Origin of the Species. But I must say, you must refrain from sending me every copy of the original print you come across. As much as I adore the work, I would not want to deprive the rest of the world of such a valuable thing. Let others have access to it as well.

 

Your last letter in support of eugenics programmes and funding worries me. I understand the argument behind it, but it is a slippery slope -just as with as social Darwinism-. We shall debate about it over chess next the time you are here. -I sent you an onyx chess set I found in a delightful shoppe in Paris for when you are in town. I had Bates place it in the usual room. Now I will not have to sully my fingers with that rusty iron set you insist on using.- The entire family will spend Christmas at Stackley Hall this year as Papa has finally consented to my project of converting Mund Abbey into an academy. I had hoped to call the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, but Mama found it preposterous and harped on about until Papa relented. It shall be christened the Xavier Academy for the Gifted. Tis not nearly as groovy as the former, but at least I can start on formally organising the project, though it means ceding much of that estate to rambunctious younglings.

-Raven just went by and named me an ‘Old Fart.’ I would hardly think so at four and twenty. I must stop narrating my letters as I compose them.-

 

I had Bates look in on Eisheart House and find the picture of the place and the time with the people and the thing. Raven says to be careful with it, as it is her masterpiece and you are ham-handed. -Her words not mine, though I second the statement.-

 

Mama, Papa and Raven send their love. Don’t spend too long on the Continent. They always like to hoard those with _magnetic_ personalities.

 

All my love,

Charles

 

Post Script

 

Now you must listen very carefully, my friend. No matter what you say, you are the delusional one not me. Congratulations. You can bend spoons with you mind…when none but you bear witness. And I do know what everyone is thinking around me all the time, especially you, it is not all in my head as you and Raven said.

 

[END LETTER TRANSCRIPT 8D]

 

Letter:

 

 

Photographs: the short one, the toothy one, The Pretty One

 

 

Lehnier's journal pages:

 

                                  

 

{End}

>>DELETE: Y

>>PASSCODE: -------------------

>>Coffee or tea?: tea cold and boiling

<<…

>>END SESSION?: Y

<<USER SIGNOFF: 16.12.2013 03:41:38 GMT

 

 

*****

 

 

>>USER: Voff

>>PASSCODE: **************************

<<USER LOGIN: 21.12.2013 11:27:59 GMT

>>Coffee or tea?: plant water

<<DECRYPT RSA & AES

>>Key: [HIDDEN REMOVEABLE DRIVE]

<<…

<<…

<<…

<<PASSCODE: BOMBE

<<DECRYPT ENIGMA

<<…

<<…

{Begin}

 

How is it I end up with all your dirty work?

 

Put your actual return address not the ‘that place over there’ type thing. Your ridiculous eccentricities are not amusing.

 

See attached for Lehnier’s journal in READABLE, (relatively - It was highly damaged) electronic form.

 

-Kigan

 

{END}

 

>>view ATTACHMENT

>> DISPLAY?: Y

<<…

>>PASSCODE: **************

<<NOTIFICATION

{Begin}

 

Voff, I am supposed to be on HOLIDAY. Kindly piss off. I included the articles for easy future reference to link up with Lehnier’s journal and notes. –Kigan

 

{End}

 

<<FILE – LEHNIER-JOURNAL.txt

 

[P. 11]

 

Thursday 16.12.1881

 

22:07

 

There was fire in Chester Square today. Somehow none were hurt. Very few were willing t speak to me – but it was so early and such a fiasco. Walked the entire [illegible] just about Scotland Yard have all but said the occupants knew the fire was - (or an attack) How else would they have known to escape?

 

Ms Dawson is the only useful witness – banging noises. Police seem uninterested in this fact save for DI LeStrade.

 

[P. 12]

 

DI LeStrade has said to keep this part silent until further notice but I will have to tell Richard sooner rather than later -> Why are Scotland Yard so silent despite officially stating the fire was intentional?

 

=Bloody pen blotted again! Can’t stand the bloody things! Hands always stained with ink. The life of a journalist. Richard says one day the ink won’t come off if I continue at this rate. For this reason – I can’t use the back of pages!=

 

[P. 13]

 

=I am convinced to try the back of the page though=

 

I am taken a back by how little space the story received in The Times. With all the people missing and all so high up. But Richard [Richard Carlisle – co-owner and senior editor of The Times] said Mr Shaw pressured The Times to report more on the thing with biggest shock value like the fire in Vienna Ring Theatre, which killed about 850 on 9 December. That this whole story is probably some gas line explosion – no different than usual and the young

 

[P. 13.5]

 

probably did themselves since no servants were there on that night. Yet the Duchess of W [Westchester] and Lady E.L. [Edie Lehnsherr] were in residence at the time. Richard should stop thinking so much like a business man and more like a newspaper owner and journalist. Bloody- another confounded blot and ink explosion! I’m switching to the pen with a rolling point John [John Loud] was so kind to send me, though he says it is far from perfect and I must keep it

 

[P. 14]

 

secret but compared to the fountain of ink that leaked, this is marvellous. Though the ink dries out far to quickly. Must visit John in Weyword next summer (Massachusetts is far too chilly this time of year)

 

I keep telling Richard we must accept Mr Shaw’s concerns as an investor in The Times but strive for independence.  I do believe the sensationalism of this piece would have convinced Richard to give it more space and not to bury it near the end of the paper. It has potential to sell! So the pressure from Mr Shaw must be very high.

 

I shall

 

[P. 15]

 

have to ask Miss Emma of that later.

 

Oh-no. Richard has just given me another lede. Mr Shaw or should I say Sir Shaw will be knighted by Queen Victoria tomorrow. (I say she’s been off her rocker a bit for 20 years) Must I do this piece?

 

 

 

[p. 16]

 

Saturday, 17.12.1881

 

12:37

 

I was able to speak at more length with Ms Dawson, she has informed me of servants’ passages that underneath some of the townhouses that went up in the late 40s. I shall have to look into when these were built. P.O. Evans said none of the occupants left through the front and the back was locked and latched from the inside. It looks to hard to scale, and I do believe it would have been difficult for the ladies at least! And the explosion occurred near the back on the first floor. The only way out would have been through a servant’s stair and passage through the basement.

 

[P. 17]

 

13:21

 

Richard says I’m won’t have to cover Sir Shaw if I can bring him something by afternoon tea.

 

15:32

 

D.I. L [LeStrade] says he will give me five minutes inside the houses on Chester Square! Of course he said at my own risk, and it is unofficial. I shall have to meet him there at 23:05 tonight. No more boring Mr-Sir-Shaw piece for me! Finally a scoop. I’ll show Richard I do have the makings!

 

[p.18]

 

23:19 Chester Square Xavier Residences – condemned

 

Ground Floor: marks where explosion was- copper melted – not melting point?

 

Floor 3 – holes in wall (bulletholes?)– CONNECTING DOOR – to next townhouse – [written in margins - (Lehnsherr townhouse)] through bedroom connected to bedroom? Sitting room? Living quarters? Strange furnishings. settee, day beds, ottomans, table, many pillows, onyx chess set strewn about, broken glass – scotch bottles (why keep it here?) – some in cupboards – BULLET HOLES IN WALLS IN CONNECTING ROOM – COUNTED AT LEAST 17 POSSIBLE MORE – SEVERAL BULLETS RICOCHETED OFF METAL SHEET (now in centre of room) BULLETS HIT FAR WALL? – overturned furniture – but the household was said to be abed – must have been surprised but expecting attack?

 

[P. 18.5 - 1]

 

How else would they get out so early?

 

SERVANTS PASSAGE FROM ROOM IN LEHNSHERR RESIDENCE – leads to ?

 

Documents and parchment burned – nothing important looking

 

23:41

 

D.I. L [LeStrade] cut my time short! Granted P.C. Cooper did give us warning and had he not been on watch, P.O. Fakenbaccon, who was on patrol and Mr Questad would have seen us. I spotted Mr Questad later at the park gate. I don’t believe he saw us but why would Mr-Sir-Shaw’s associates be here?

 

D.I. L [LeStrade] revealed that the investigations were being ‘hindered’ by someone higher up – he said to

 

[P. 18.5 - 2]

 

talk to D.I. Davidson – something was off with the inspections of the fire? There is something by someone higher up trying to hide all of this. Wouldn’t be surprised if it were Mr-Sir-Shaw himself. Why would he want E. Xavier and Lord Vasler dead though? [Earl Charles Francis Xavier, Brian Xavier, 7th Duke of Westchester’s heir apparent; and Lord Vasler: Erik Lehnsherr – 2nd Baron Vasler]

 

They must have been the targets or was it the others? Why the ladies? The other lads were youger sons – won’t inherit – Dear Lord, please let me come across the scandal of the century – let me live to write it.

 

Late must get home and sleep now. The misses will not be amused.

 

[P. 19]

 

Sunday, 18.12.1881

 

02:16

 

Why do I never listen to myself? Somehow I ended up calling upon Andy (as F.I. Davidson insisted I call him. If we meet at odd hours of the day to share secrets then we must be friends he said and not let formality make us more exhausted) Andy told me that accelerants, in his professional opinion, were definitely used and spread up the stairs. The fire followed a very specific path to the blue sleeping quarters on the third floor and into the room where the onyx chess set was. Of course it spread to the rest of the house. Andy said it looked like the job

 

[P. 20]

 

had been done too quickly and the arsonist(s) didn't have enough time to finish or cover their tracks before the ‘explosion,’ if that was even what it was and not just a cover. The piping on the house had just been redone by The Gas Light and Coke Company just the year before using the latest technology. Andy said he knew the man who oversaw the installation  - said the house was wired for some of that new fangled electricity as well but by some small private company that he’d never heard of – just appeared within the last year – HELLFIRE WORKS.

 

[P. 21]

 

Andy said his peers disagreed – F.I. John ‘Pyro’ Allerdyce said that it was a gas explosion caused by faulty pipes and build up of gas and an open flame. Andy said F.I. Allerdyce had seniority – my eyes are blurring – staying the night at Andy’s. His wife had me put in the spare bedroom. Gwen (Andy’s wife) even had sandwiches brought up. Must sleep. Handwriting atrocious at this hour. Andy said all this on record find F.I. Allerdyce in morni—

 

[p. 22]

 

16:44

 

All the little lords and ladies are missing. Duchess of W and Lady E.L. found and well. No comment. Bloody nobility. Bloody gentry. Enough of this keep it all in the family.

 

Gave Richard my accounts – said he had to look it over with the other editors and Mr-Sir-Shaw. Why is Sir Shaw involved? Just need proof of his involvement.

 

19:29

 

Spoke to Mrs Baker – only member of the Xavier household – or any for the bloody [illegible writing] to speak. Mostly useless information. Mrs Baker not there at time.

 

[P. 23]

19:57

 

Spoke to Andy – will have to hold information until the 20th if I want to keep getting information from him. Spoke to Richard – he won’t run the story until further notice anyway. Ethics be damned. I should take this to the Manchester Guardian. Mr Scott wouldn’t stand for this. Why does Richard let Mr-Sir Shaw have such an input on the content for The Times? Businessmen be damned if the don’t sell. I can’t believe this is know to Mr Walters the actual (or at least the figurehead) owner. Then again he wouldn't care. Why hasn’t the Guardian reported on this matter? Sir Shaw’s doing? How many does he have in his gilded little pockets?

 

[P. 24]

 

Still nothing on any of those at the houses. Say 3 and all the families ‘keep calm and carry on.’ Has Duke of W not realised his own son and heir is disappeared? What about the Lehnsherrs – the head of the company? A Baron? Or even Lady R? [Lady Raven Xavier] or Lady A.S., the heiress? [Lady Angel Salvadore] damn servant loyalty – got nothing out of any of them. The upper class stiff upper lip! What are these people up to? Someone here is up to no good. But who?

 

[p. 25]

 

19:41

 

Richard came in and said to write a statement. Scotland Yard and London Fire Brigade have retracted their statements! Can’t people see this is a cover-up? Well they can, but why won’t they say anything? They could stop the scandal – whatever it may be! What happened to the direction of it all?

 

Fought with Richard. I refused to write the statement/ The hour is growing late and Moira [Moira Lehnier, Francis Lehnier’s Wife] is angry. I missed dinner with her, Mama and Papa once more. I will try harder not to next time. Must remember to sleep.

 

[p. 26]

 

19.12.1881

 

10:15

 

I am displeased with Richard.

 

 

 

 

11:27

 

Andy was transferred to Liverpool? D.I. LeStrade can not speak under threat of  court martial? And has been removed from the case. D.I. Jason Moriarty and now heads the case.

 

12:59

 

D.I. Moriarty has closed the case on the fire. Scotland Yard report all those missing are returned home. That they were scared they would be blamed for the damage? Hardly believable. If going to make excuses and lies then let them be bette-[the writing trials off the page]

 

[p. 27]

 

13:17

 

Apologies notebook. I press to hard and my handwriting get worse when angry.

 

 

15:33

 

Have handed in notice to Richard. I am leaving The Times. Will investigate and go freelance. Maybe the Manchester Guardian would like the story?

 

Moira will not be pleased with the…lack of current employment. Buy chocolate.

 

16:44

 

retuned to the townhouses where the fire was in Chester Square. Spotted Mr Questad.

 

18:47

 

followed Mr Questad to Osborne street and Whitechapel High Street in Whitechapel

 

-   inside door says Hellfire Club – Mr Shaw?

 

19:21

Saw Miss Emma enter – disappointed in Miss Emma

 

19:53

loud shouts coming from inside

 

19:57

Mr Questad leaves

 

19:59

 

Mr Questad walks down Whitechapel (I sneezed) High Street

 

20:01

 

Mr Questad go----[pen trails off]

 

[There is a bloodied handprint, but I doubt it’s Lehnier’s. It would have smudged and smeared when the journal was dropped in water, it doesn't look 130 years old. Maybe 80 to 40 years?]

 

 

 

>>exit

<<…

>>transfer LEHNIER.txt [hidden drive]

>>PASSCODE: --------------------

<<…

<<…

>>DELETE: Y

>>PASSCODE: --------------------

>>Coffee or tea?: in the same cup

<<…

>>END SESSION?: Y

<<USER SIGNOFF: 21.12.2013 15:04:05 GMT 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the articles are fake and were created for the purpose of the of this story. No copyright infringement is intended. No money was made from this. The London Times and it's logo belong to its respectful owners.
> 
> Richard Carlisle is is from Downton Abbey. 
> 
> There are a lot of other character from Sherlock Holmes, such as D.I. Lestrade.
> 
> Andy Davidson and Cooper are from Torchwood.
> 
> Yay crossover?
> 
> The photographs [of the three] were printed and dyed to look aged. The original photographs belong to their respective owners.
> 
> All actual people belong to themselves.
> 
> The death notice for Francis Maximillion Lehnier is fake as he is a made up character. Any similarity to someone who actually exists is purely coincidental.


	2. Anger and Irritation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik in the time before the fire. Circa 5 December 1881.

Anger. Irritation. Two hands held out from its body like a toddler learning to walk searched for the wall. Upon contact, the left one pulled back, formed itself into a fist and smashed repeatedly into the poor drywall until it met no resistance. The right one soon followed suit, then a forehead.

An amalgamation of despair, anxiety, loss and anger filled the air when a yell that would curdle even the most battle hardy of men’s blood ripped through the air.

Tears of frustration formed tempestuous floods down a face. Yells turned to gargled sobs and the form still pounding weakly at the wall slid to the floor. Then hands reached up to grab chocolate locks and pulled. Anger restored, the form turned and leaned his back against the wall. It then repeatedly introduced the back of its head to the wall, forcefully.

The thought ‘GONE. GONE. GONE-GONEGONEGONEGO-’ raced through his head and projected it to the household.

Doors burst open, but the figure didn’t react. A man crossed the threshold yelling a name, but failed to inspire a response. Large warm, hands grasped wet cheeks and searched his face. Concern, worry, fright go unnoticed by eyes that darted around like bees in a frenzy and focused on nothing.

‘CHARLES! CHARLES! Listen to me! CHARLES!’ the man thought.

The manic named Charles failed to notice.

‘Charles! I’m here. You’re not alone. You’re not alone.’

But he was. Charles was alone.

The man pulled Charles’ cut, bloodied and now bruising hands to cup and feel his face.

Charles recognised the face’s angular planes. The one that had a smile with too many teeth, but frowned too often.

A hum of warmth wrapped in disbelief escaped him. ‘rik-erik-erik-erIK-ERIK-ERIK-ERIK’

Erik slowly massaged Charles’ temples with a circular motion.

‘Charles. What is the matter, dear one?’

‘erikerikeriker-’

Erik met only with his name projected into his head.

‘Charles?’

The same hum continued.

‘Charles?’

After a few more minutes, the buzzing of ‘Erik’ stopped and was replaced with ‘It’s gone. It’s gone, Erik-you’re mind is gone. Everyone’s is gone! I’m ALONE - ALONE IN HERE!’

Erik’s mouth dropped in horror. It had deteriorated that much. Because Charles had pushed himself, because he had used his extraordinary gift and because he was so extraordinary, it had finally taxed his far too ordinary body too much. And Charles was running out of tender to pay with.

First his sight had blurred and gone. Then his world grew quiet as deafness set in. The feeling in his hands had begun to fail as well, but it was his brain that took the fall this day. Now his world was not muted, but silent. Other minds had faded, and now Charles could no longer feel the one mind he had been able to cling to after the cataclysm. Erik’s mind was gone. Charles could only project. Who knew how much longer until that went as well or the feeling in his fingers, palms, and the rest of him? How much longer until this curse forced him to turn in on himself completely?

He had cared too much, pushed too far and now his body betrayed him. That was the price of his abilities. Abilities none were capable of having for long. A curse one was born. A curse that was too great for any human body to bear for long. A curse that bore the epithet: For those in requirement.

Erik pulled Charles in close. He cradled Charles’ head in the crook of his neck and let Charles cling all he wanted. Erik placed a kiss to Charles’ temple and another in a series until Charles was able to calm his mind.

But this time was worse than last time. More like the time before when the candle that lit Charles vast light went out – when he lost the ability to see through others’ eyes after his own ceased to function.

In this state, Erik knew there was only way to one way to ease Charles’ despair: to distract him. To distract Charles in such a way he didn’t have to think, couldn’t think. To give him something to focus on. That one thing, that one point somewhere between rage and serenity. To occupy and use all his remaining senses at once and for Charles that was Erik.

Erik stood and brought Charles with him. He then scooped up the smaller frame that shuddered every few moments with silent angst.

Erik took his time carrying Charles to their bedroom on the third floor of the middle of three townhouses, two belonging to the Xaviers, the other to the name Lehnsherr. He lowered Charles onto the feather filled, deep blue duvet. He placed cream-coloured down pillows underneath his lover’s head, careful to never break physical contact – a constant necessity for Charles at this stage.

What Charles had done for so many he had never even met, Erik would now continue for Charles. And right now that for Erik was a deep breath before the plunge to prevent this from being the last gasp before the end for Charles.

Erik knew to give Charles’ failing senses more time than necessary to experience things.

Erik hovered over Charles and took in the sight of the smaller man - so powerful, so frightful, but now so delicate and wasted. Eyes dull and sunken with bags underlining the fact, skin sallow and grey, hair matted and limp, lips chapped and split, muscle mass gone, far too skinny for his own good – what had become of Charles Francis Xavier? Haunted, like an old man lingering beyond his time, lacking the decency to shuffle off. Alone in the deep, vast cavern that was once filled with a million voices was now silent and empty. How dark and dank his pestilential prison of a mind had become.

Erik caressed Charles’ cheek. Charles rolled onto his left side towards the dark chill of his mind and away from the warmth Erik provided. Erik sighed thinking, ‘Enough of this Charles. Come back to us. Come back to me.’

Erik then maneuvered the smaller man to remove Charles’ waistcoat and shirt, then unbuttoned the top half of the union suit beneath. His hands then went on an expedition over the vast expanse of Charles’s skin.

Strong hands rolled Charles onto his stomach while deft hands groped for tense shoulders filled with knots like tangled rope. An elbow eased the biggest cramp on Charles lower back, and warm lips kissed the rest away.

When the ache had left the deteriorating one’s back, Erik rolled him onto his back. Erik kissed Charles’ temples, the place where the problem began as Charles drew an arm to cover his eyes and turn his head to the side. Erik frowned. ‘No, Charles. No,’ he thought to himself. Erik took Charles’ wrist and removed his arm from his face. No hiding from the world for the one who couldn’t sense the world tonight.

That was when Charles left hand formed into a powerful fist and connected with the side of Erik’s head. Grabbing Erik’s shirt with both hands, Charles swung a left and flipped them. Erik was on his back, Charles straddling him.

Knuckles greeted Erik at high velocities, striking out randomly. One adorned with two rings caught his brow and slashed it open. The other with one ring split his lip. Charles shuddered as he punched, screamed and sobbed. Erik struggled to protect his face.

The pressure in Charles’ head welled behind his eyes, a blood vessel broke, and lifeblood mixed with tears. Charles bowed his head. Salty red proof that Charles was alive fell from his eyes to find refuge in Erik’s.

A whisper of ‘Erik’ was the only word to wriggle free from Charles’ mouth. Erik sat up and moved to lick the dried blood off of his anguished’s forehead, temple and lips where Charles bitten hard enough to coax the red liquid forth from its channels earlier. Erik’s hands cradling Charles’ face.

Erik pressed light kisses to cracked lips. Charles all the while, mouthed and projected ‘I’m sorry, so sorry.’ Erik moved to further claim Charles’ mouth in a kiss that tasted of iron. Charles felt for and then held Erik’s face. Erik ran his hands along Charles’s sides.

Erik pressed his forehead to Charles’ and rubbed gentle circles on his loved one’s hips. Charles’s breath began to transition to deep, heavy intakes from the panting he’d grown accustomed to.

After some time, Erik rolled them so Charles would be supported by the bed and cushioned by pillows. Erik pulled Charles’ trousers off and removed the rest of the union suit. Shoes were next, but not socks, never socks, for shame on Erik if Charles’ feet were ever to be cold.

Erik sat back, but kept in constant physical contact as he removed his own skin-covering articles. Without any space between them, Erik laid over Charles, protecting him from the world. Limbs entangled, mouths met, breathing calmed and synchronised. The taste, feel and smell was all Erik could now give of himself to someone who could once experience him in more than just the five senses.

Now he had to be really creative, really creative. He had to be more resourceful than he ever had. Had to make it so he stimulated anything and everything Charles had left.

Erik had to work the despair out of Charles. Erik would stay in, on and around Charles for as long as it took, and then longer just to reassure the one in his care that much more.

It took all night and well into the next day, before Charles could stand to be parted from him a few agonising moments for each of them to answer nature’s call. The air was heavy with the smell of them, together.

It was noon before Erik called for lunch in their bedroom – hours and hours since either had thought of food and drink. A trusted one whose family had served the Xavier family for generations, Mr. Blackadder, brought water, wine, platters of cheeses and fruit, and several courses of their favourite and most flavourful dishes. Erik requested Mr. Blackadder to cancel his appointments for the rest of the month as he turned back to coax Charles into eating a cube of sharp cheddar from the Southwest.

When Charles refused sustenance, hid his face in the crook of Erik’s neck, and began to give him love bites, Erik chuckled. He picked up Charles’ hand and spelled into it ‘As much as you’d like to, I’d prefer if you didn’t cannibalise me, liebling.’ For the first time in a long time, a hint of a smile ghosted across Charles’ lips. But it didn’t stick, nor stayed. It would take far more time until Erik would be able to coax the skittish as a deer smile out into the open.

It was the fifth. Twenty days till Charles’ favourite day of the year at his favourite place with his favourite people. Hopefully that was enough time before they returned to Stackley Gardens in Cheshire for the holidays. Maybe Raven, Lady Sharon and the others’ joining them on the fifteenth would speed Charles’ so called recovery.

But for now and until the others could join them, it was up to Erik to soothe Charles’ fears and smother his anxiety.

Erik felt wave of dizziness and one of the all too frequent headaches marched its way from the back to the front of his skull. But no mind, he had something much more important to focus on.

Both he and Charles needed to bathe. Erik carried the smaller one bridal style to washroom where they stayed for a long while more than deemed sufficient.

Upon returning to bedchamber, all had been made up, cleaned and aired. Charles became uncomfortable. The musk he’d grown used to over the past eighteen hours had been removed for which Erik was displeased, but at the same time he knew Charles would appreciate the clean sheets. It was time to make things as soothing for Charles as possible.

Erik led Charles back to the bed and continued his ministrations from before they were interrupted by the calls of homeostasis. Erik would continue to so daily until the Raven and the others returned to Chester Square from unfortunate, but required business on the Continent.


	3. Woe is Me

‘Three days. Just three more days,’ Erik thought to himself. Three days to get Charles ready to smile, maybe even laugh. Anything to pull him out of the pit he’d been trying to bury himself in the past fortnight.

Then it hit him, a wave of nausea, a headache that felt like an earthquake ripping his head apart, and arrhythmia – as if his heart had forgotten how to work. Erik abandoned the wine glasses in his hands, spilling its contents all over cream carpet. He clutched at his chest, sputtered and sank to all fours. One thought crossed his mind, ‘Charles.’

Charles stood in their washroom, retching, purging himself of the too many opiates he found and swallowed earlier in one of his darker moments. Erik stumbled towards him. Once Charles had finished, he’d felt the need to attempt to impale himself on washroom fixtures. ‘Hence the headache,’ Erik thought.

Erik grabbed for Charles’ waist and yanked him back. Charles pushed against him, but Erik held close to his chest until Charles stopped struggling. Erik pulled Charles onto their bed and called for Mr Blackadder to have the coachmen bring the coach round directly.

Erik grabbed a towel, wiped Charles clean and dressed him haphazardly in a fresh union suit, shirt and trousers, for Charles wouldn’t need to be decent for too long.

Once loaded, Mr Blackadder sat up front with the coachman, Branson, and two footman, Carlisle and Rheon. Erik held Charles’ head to his chest and covered his ears as if to help block out the horrors that had befallen him.

The rest of the ride continued in silence.

Sometime later, they arrived at a private Romanesque inspired bathhouse owned by the Lehnsherrs. Under the protection of wealth and privilege, Erik lead Charles inside through a covered entrance to the chambers reserved for his use and his alone.

He sat Charles down on one bench near the baths where steam rolled off water’s surface. Charles turned his face away from heat frowning, and let his resentment show on his face. ‘Don’t coddle me, Erik’ he projected in every direction so he wouldn’t miss.

Erik turned round and walked back to Charles, towels in hand. He set them down next to Charles, grabbed Charles’ chin and dragged it up so he look the blind man in the eye, but what good would it do? He searched Charles’ face, but didn’t find what he was looking for.

‘What?’ entered Erik’s mind. Erik scowled. He reached for the other’s hand and spelt out, ‘Do not take your anger out on me. You made a choice. Now you must live with it. If I could I would go back and stop you, but I can’t so I’m doing what I can. You’re not the only one hurting, Charles.’

Charles deflated. Tension and anger left, leaving behind a pathetic shadow that began to fill with something lower, pettier.

‘I need neither your sympathy nor pity, Erik,’ he snapped.

Erik tensed and wrapped his arms around the slight figure, and sighed. A moment later he spelt out ‘No, not sympathy and never pity. Empathy, Charles. Empathy.’ ‘For someone who is [or was?] a telepath, he’s slow to understand people,’ Erik thought to himself not for the first time.

There they sat for some time until Charles sent, ‘Carry on then.’

But Erik hesitated, mind wandering back to the days of conversation they had. Maybe they were making some progress after all? Erik wanted to address Charles’ latest aborted shuffling off this mortal coil, but didn’t think Charles was ready to discuss that just yet. Charles let out an indignant huff and shifted, knowing that Erik was lost in his own head.

Erik wished he knew what to do. He was a man of action; Charles was of thinking, and so far Erik’s attempts to meet somewhere in the middle were lacking. ‘How do I deal with this? I’m no Wundt, no mind reader.’ So Erik did what he what he had been doing. Occupy Charles’ attention to the fullest extent possible. At that instant, Charles jabbed Erik in the stomach, catapulting Erik from his internal world to Charles’ external one.

Erik glanced down and saw the cross look on Charles’ face. He planted kisses along Charles’ jawline. Erik felt strange. Before, Charles had lead at least half if not more of the time, but now all he did was follow, if that.

Erik had to work harder and harder to draw out reactions. Charles seemed to want to go mentally dead as well. Erik removed the offending layers from them both. Next, he pressed his mouth against Charles’ and put a hand to his chest to push him down onto the imperial purple pillows that sat atop the stone bench.

Erik pulled back frowning and signed into Charles’ left hand, ‘Do you even want this?’ He was rewarded by being ignored. Erik sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

‘Alright. I understand.' He signed into Charles’ palm and moved to get up. The instant he dropped all physical contact with the man, a hand shot out, grabbed his wrist and yanked violently.

‘Do not leave me, Erik. Don’t you even dare to think of leaving me alone in here.’

Erik scowled signing into Charles’ hand, ‘I won’t, but you need breathing roo-’

‘I do not. I need you-’ ‘Erik.’ Erik stared in shock. It was the first time in nearly ten days Charles had used his voice. It was hoarse with disuse, but it was all the prompting Erik needed. He went back to Charles directly. Kissing him, feeling him, making sure Charles knew he had him, all of him. He led the blind man towards the far wall lined with cushions. He dragged his tongue along Charles’ jaw, causing the other to moan finally.

Charles positioned his back against the wall and reached for Erik’s bum. He let his hands rest there for a while before bringing them up Erik’s sides. Erik then leaned on his knees to capture Charles mouth again and again and again.

‘Stop ignoring it, Erik,’ to which caused Erik to smirk into the kiss. He placed a chaste kiss Charles’ nose, then redirected his attention lower towards Charles’ cock.

Slowly, so very slowly Erik licked a long wet stripe down Charles' length. When he reached the end, he swirled his tongue on the tip earning him a deep throaty moan from Charles. Erik reached up to cradle Charles' balls with his hand and brushed the rough pads of his fingers along the sensitive skin. He placed dozens of teasingly light butterfly kisses near the tip and made his way up to the base and back down again. Erik kissed the head and took Charles into his mouth.

The movement was so exaggerated and drawn out that Charles couldn't help, but arch into his mouth. Charles brought his hands up to run his fingers through Erik's hair moaning his name. Erik was more than pleased to get get such a reaction from Charles, but hearing the desperation in his lover's voice worried him.

Erik continued sucking on his length taking in a little bit more until he felt Charles urgently pull on his hair. Then, Erik took him even deeper into his mouth as he heard Charles project ‘not enough, not enough. More. More, More-moremore.’

At this, Erik gradually pulled back until he released Charles’ now hard cock with a wet pop. He stopped all ministrations on Charles' cock, causing Charles to whimper.

Erik looked up and into Charles' eyes that even though they ceased to see, somehow always seemed fixated on him. The air was heavy with a mutual understanding of anticipation, desperation, want and need.

Erik sat back up, reached over to a small stone table and picked up a bowl filled with the finest massage oil. He caressingly dipped all five fingers of Charles' left hand in the scented liquid. Charles raised his other hand to gently cup Erik's cheek, while the coated fingers of his left ghosted down along Erik’s spine.

Charles let his hand rest teasingly on Erik's hip and caressed the skin there. Erik let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding for this was the most Charles had participated in far too long. More than simple reaction. Erik knew what Charles needed.

Erik leaned over to brush a few stray chocolate locks behind Charles' ear and leaned his forehead against Charles' so they were face to face. They stayed in that position for a while breathing the familiar scent of each other, together combined with the fragrant oils of the bathhouse. Half lidded eyes. Lips parted, soft panting. Erik pulled back and kissed Charles' forehead.

Charles' left hand dipped lower from where it was resting on Erik's back till he reached his bumcrack, curled his oiled fingers and dragged them lower still.

Now it was Erik’s turn to moan as Charles circled his hole. Charles paused for a moment then pressed one well oiled finger in. He pushed in further and pulled back, repeating the motion. Erik groaned as Charles added another finger and couldn't help, but push down as his lover curled his fingers inside him and pulled.

Breaths coming in shorter bursts, Erik reached over to the bowl of fine massage oil and unceremoniously dunked his digits in. Erik brought his hand back to join Charles' where it was nestled deep within. He slipped one finger and hissed, but soon added a second matching the rhythmic motion of Charles' hand. There they stretched Erik together.

Then Erik shifted and pulled his fingers out. Charles removed his hand, but before he could attend to himself, Erik grabbed his hips and maneuvered him into a better position for what Erik had in mind. Erik straddled Charles and then slowly sank down onto him. Erik sat in Charles’ lap, chest to chest. Hands on each others’ hips for a long moment.

Erik pawed for the oil and coated his palms. Charles huffed so Erik clenched causing Charles to gasp. Erik caught Charles’ mouth, worked fingers across tense shoulders and ground down on his lover’s hips. Charles bucked up eagerly. ‘Finally’ Erik thought, ‘Enthusiasm.’ Erik raised himself and then slammed down, Charles thrusting up, though his movement was somewhat limited, in a desperate attempt to keep up.

Erik ignored his own cock and concentrated on Charles. Up and down he went, grinding and swivelling his hips each time they came back together. Both their breathing shallow, pupils blown wide, filled with lust, love and tinged with desperation. Charles arched and came deep inside Erik, all the while groaning out his name. Erik put an arm round Charles to support him, while Charles put a hand in between them and felt for Erik. A moment later, Erik joined Charles, as his resolve broke and he spurted out. They both fell back awkwardly against the wall that was further from Charles’ back than comfortable.

Erik pulled himself off slowly while Charles pulled them to the cushion covered floor and wrapped himself in Erik. Erik smiled in post coital bliss, and Charles massaged Erik’s lower back. Charles’ fidgetiness caused him rub against Erik. Erik’s cock twitched at the contact.

‘Really, Erik? You are insatiable. Woe is me.’ Charles projected with a hint a sarcasm.

Erik stared at Charles in wonder, ‘Humour?’ he said to no one in particular. Erik hitched a sob and brought his mouth flush to Charles’ in order to hold them together and breathe in unison.

‘Now who’s attempting to cannibalising who?’ Charles thought at Erik.

Erik’s only response was to kiss Charles harder, to grasp at him, to hold on and hope, hope that the Charles he once knew hadn’t lost himself and was on his way back. That even though there were many shadows and dark corners that hid the pits within Charles’ increasing isolating world, Charles still had the will to follow what light Erik could give him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoray, collaborations! The wonderful pron in this chapter was written by kolachie!


End file.
